Lady of the Little Eagles
by DeimosFire99
Summary: First of all, let me get one thing straight: I'm not psychic. Nope, not psychic… just sensitive… yeah, let's go with that. My name is Dominique Arnetta and I'm a sensitive. And my normal, safe bubble of a life was changed one day when I awoke in the arms of Ezio Auditore da Firenze.
1. Wake Me Up, Pompeii

**HI GUYS! THIS IS MY FIRST FANFIC FOR ASSASSIN'S CREED AND I'M SO EXCITED TO SEE WHAT IT HAS IN STORE FOR ME. :D This is just a little something that popped into my mind while I was writing a fanfic unrelated to this fandom. :3 Hope you like! :)**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~****OO** **OO~****O**

"_So wake me up when it's all over, when I'm wiser and I'm older._"

"_But if you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?_"

**O~****OO ****OO~****O**

**Chapter 1: Wake Me Up, Pompeii**

First of all, let me get one thing straight: I'm not psychic.

Sure, sometimes I get dreams that can tell whether tomorrow's weather would be a bright, sunny day or a gloomy, rainy, shitty, day; sometimes when I'm asked to "guess" how many children a pregnant woman will have, I get it right; sometimes I can even see the ghostly figure of a small child in the corner of my eye, running around the park with a bullet hole in his forehead where a murderer shot him in between the eyes.

I don't like using the term "psychic"; whenever I think about that term, I immediately imagine myself going all "Jean Grey" and lifting up all the cars and the coffee cups and the water that flows through the Hudson—I pass it every time I take my morning jog.

Nope, not psychic… just _sensitive… _yeah, let's go with that.

My name is Dominique Arnetta and I'm a sensitive. Well, it'll have to do.

I live in a lofty apartment just near upstate New York (I'm not telling you where exactly, I'm cautious like that) and I love playing video games, hanging out, writing down my dreams, and coffee. I work as a barista at the coffee shop down the block and I write novels to pay the rent. I love animals and I have a pet Siberian husky—I know; big right? But he's a softie and the clean-up of hair and dog shit is well worth for the cuddles and playtime.

So, let's proceed to the story:

Really, my life was normal; I made a lot of friends when I came here, though one or two stood out to become my besties. The barista job covered up the expenses that the lull in my writing career and book publishing could not, and I was content with my home; which had a fairly large flatscreen TV with a PS3 and X-Box console.

Yep, my life was good, fun, _safe_.

But that, of course, was when Life would want to pull you of your shell and beat the living shit out of you.

* * *

I forgot to mention I liked to make mash-ups.

I loved making them, listening to other people's mash-ups… I've loved them ever since I first heard DJ Earworm's United State of Pop 2008 (Viva la Pop). But I only learned how when I watched Pitch Perfect when it came out a few months ago.

Ever since then, it became a hobby.

Where was I? Oh yeah, when Life busted through my shell and dragged me out to beat the crap out of me.

It started off with dreams; confusing flashes of Desmond's time in the Animus—both as Ezio and Altair. At first I dismissed them; being a _sensitive_ and all, I taught myself when to differentiate dreams about the future from the normal, 22-year-old fantasies of a girl who is too addicted with Assassin's Creed.

But they didn't go away—instead they grew worse: I began to see visions of charging Templars, hooded Assassins fighting, and a glowing, metal orb. It was like I was experiencing the Animus' Bleeding Effect, without the Animus. Also, every time I played Assassin's Creed II, my head would start to pound whenever I saw Ezio's face, and—_was it my imagination, or did he just turn his head, looking straight at me?_

I shut off the console.

I groaned, sitting up and massaged my throbbing temples. I poured myself a glass of water and some aspirin. I gulped it down and looked at my watch. It was 3:25 in the afternoon. I still had two hours to kill before Trixie, Jenna, and Marcus came knocking on my door to watch City of Bones.

Ah, Jenna… she never did get over the fact that she couldn't get her hands on the second book because they were always out of stock. Poor girl.

Suddenly, I felt the entire room tilt, my body falling victim to gravity. Black spots danced in my eyes before I felt my body fall limp on the kitchen floor. I vaguely heard the sound of shattering glass beside me as my eyes struggled to remain open, the pounding in my head increasing.

I crawled over to the telephone on the coffee table beside the couch. Just a few more feet…

I gave in, letting the black spots consume my vision.

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**READ AND REVIEW IF YOU WANT IT TO CONTINUE! ;)**


	2. I Knew You Were a Heart Attack

**THANKS TO Terra-Fair for being the first reviewer of my FIRST FANFIC HERE! :D I also wanna give a shoutout to BookwormStrawberry who is following this! I love ya! :D TO ALL MY OTHER READERS: PLeAse R&R! :))**

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**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

"_Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago, I was in your sights, you got me alone."_

"_Putting my defenses up `cause I don't wanna fall in love,"_

**O~OO****OO~O**

**Chapter 2: I Knew You Were a Heart Attack**

I was drifting—hah! You though I was going to say: "in a vast, ocean", didn't you? Nah, I just felt light, like my body weighed nothing and I was floating on air, nothing keeping me up and nothing dragging me down.

It was dark, but the darkness was littered with tiny stars, one star shining a bright yellow. In fact, if I didn't know better it looked almost like a small sun, glowing like a beacon in the dark void of space.

I was content to just sit here and watch the stars, floating in space but still able to breath in the vacuum.

Eventually, though, something pierced into my bubble of peace: a sharp whining that sounded almost like my big, lovable, softie-of-a-dog, Sam.

And then something strange happened, the moment my pet's name crossed my mind, I felt something snap, like a rope that had been stretched too tight. The sensation of falling overtook me and I screamed. The stars winked out one by one as if a hand was snuffing them out. Finally, everything was gone, except for the yellow star.

It shone brighter and drew nearer, as if it was magnetically attracted to me or something. I winced as I tried to shut my eyes, but I couldn't—it pierced the darkness behind my eyelids. I felt my breathing quicken as the yellow ball of light stopped a few feet away, keeping up with my free-falling form.

I moaned when I felt something course through my veins; something ancient and powerful and _rejuvenating_. I felt my "sensitivity" grow stronger just being near the ball of light. I could feel it grow closer, I could feel it want me… no, not _me_… someone to protect it, keep it safe until the right person would find it.

I opened my eyes, and for a moment; I thought I saw the confused face of a very familiar-looking, hooded man stare right back.

"_Ezio!"_

* * *

"Ezio!" I shot up, knocking over a tray that had been placed on my lap. Its contents—which I later discovered to be chicken noodle soup topped with some croutons and a glass of lukewarm water—spilled on the bed and on the floor. Luckily, I didn't hear glass shattering, but I did hear some very colorful words spewing from Jenna's mouth.

"Motherf*cking shit! Goddamn it, this dress was new! Granted it was on sale, but it was new!" Jenna slightly-groaned, slightly-snarled at me, but her face softened when she saw me sway on the spot where I stood.

"Oh, alright, I forgive you. But you _so_ owe me a new dress… I'll make sure this time you pay for it full time." She murmured, picking up the silverware. She hollered out: "Marcus, grab a mop!"

"Who's Ezio?" Jenna finally asked after a slight lull in the conversation. Apparently, they story went that they went straight to my place after they waited for a half-hour at the front of the cinema. They tried calling my cell but no one picked up. Trixie had a bad feeling—I swear, if I didn't know better, she could have been a sensitive like me—and convinced Jenna and Marcus to come with her to visit me. They found me passed out on the ground, only my eyes were open, staring into space.

"You didn't talk, didn't blink… you didn't do anything. Seriously, Arnie, what shit have you been inhaling this time?" she had asked, first thing.

I had resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I never told them about my "sensitivity", I let them assume what they wanted… as long as they would be there for me at the end of the day I'm content.

"Nothing!" I lied, laughing her off.

But now, faced with that question, I answered truthfully:

"Oh, nothing… just some character I play at this video game…" it may sound vague, but once you hang out with socialites like Jenna and Trixie, you'll learn never to go into specifics when it comes to "guy stuff", which mainly included video games and TV. They nodded, though, it was enough.

"Which game?" Marcus asked. Crap, I forgot about him.

"Assassin's Creed," I answered, taking a sip from the second bowl of soup they brought in for me. It was crab and corn. Not bad.

Marcus nodded and went back to his phone, no doubt hogging up the wifi my place offered. I looked at the time and groaned.

"How long was I out?" I had asked, they replied that I had been out for two hours, not counting the time I've been laying on the kitchen floor for God-knows-how-long. I had winced.

But it's already eight in the morning (Trixie slept on the couch while Marcus and Jenna slept at the guest room), Marcus had to leave for his job at the factory (what or which factory I don't really know) and Jenna had to leave for her next appointment (she was a therapist—I know, crazy considering she has such colorful vocabulary!). Trixie was the only one remaining and even she had to leave soon because her son still needed company at the hospital (he had recently gotten the flu).

I would be alone.

And for once, I minded.

* * *

I pasted a reassuring smile on my face as I ushered Trixie out the door.

"I'll be fine, really." I said, wrapping the robe around me tighter. Trixie shot me a look before finally relenting—her son was in the _hospital_ after all.

"Alright, call me if _anything _happens, capische?" she yelled behind her as she hurried to the elevator.

"Yeah, yeah!" I said, stifling a chuckling. Even away from her kid, Trixie was still a mother. I wish my mom had been like that…

I turned around and locked the door behind me. Before leaving Jenna called my boss down at the coffee shop that I wouldn't be coming in today. So I had a whole day to kill.

Sam shuffled to me, his tail wagging, but not excitedly as if he could sense my pain and didn't want to add to it. I smiled and kneeled, ruffling his fur.

"Oh, you sweet dog, you…"

He trailed me to the kitchen as I made myself a cool glass of iced tea. He butted his head against my leg and I chuckled. I reached up to the cupboard and handed him a crouton, he chewed it gratefully and barked.

"Good Sammy…"

Of course, it seems the universe knew that it was my day-off too! Because just as I was getting settled with a nice "Lord of the Rings" book on my favorite chair with a cool cup of iced tea, with Sam curled up nice at my feet, the mother of all headaches bloomed in-between my eyes.

"What the fu—! Ahh!" I yelled as I tripped on a stray wire. Sam recoiled when I almost stepped on his tail, barking indignantly. _Damn my addiction to video games._

I fell forward—Sammy was still barking—but before my head hit the floor, I saw a bright light burst from the carpeting. I reached out a hand—both to brace myself and to reach for it—before clenching my eyes shut. I felt myself fall into space and the sound of whining echoed behind me.


	3. Run the World, Titanium

**A REPLY TO THE TWO FIRST REVIEWERS OF MY FIRST FANFIC HERE IN AC:**

**Dear Terra-Fair: **Thanks so much for giving this fanfic a chance! :D I hope you continue to read it and feel free to leave a review here and there. :))

**Dear LunaLou: **I like your name, it's cute and it reminds me of Harry Potter's Luna Lovegood. :3 Anyways, I hope that this chapter will be good enough for you. :3 I HOPE YOU LOVE IT! XDD

**AND TO ALL OF MY READERS, R&R! ;)**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

_"My persuasion can build a nation."_

_"You shout it out, but I can't hear a word you say."_

**O~OO OO~O**

**Chapter 3: Run the World, Titanium**

I was falling, _again_, but this time, I could hear the air whistling past my ears. I wasn't in the dark void of my peace bubble anymore. I was actually falling through air.

I opened my eyes, the waters of a canal neared me as I fell towards it, my black hair whipping behind me like a comet's tail—_ I really should get a haircut._

I screamed as the water raced up to meet me, I quickly gulped in a breath of air. A shocking numbness coursed through my veins as the water enveloped—

Except it didn't.

I felt a strong arm wrap around me and the air that was screaming against my ear sort of changed direction. I opened my eyes; stone buildings raced by me in a blur as the one arm that held me in vice-like grip tightened. I looked up; a chiseled face met my gaze and I gasped as I noticed he was swinging us around the corner using a hanging plant with his _other _arm.

_But… the only person I know who could do that is…_

_No… he's just in a video game character. He's not real…_

I gasped as the air stopped screaming at my ears. We had dropped on one of the balustrades so conveniently placed in our path and the arm let go of my waist. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my shaking body. I didn't even know it, but I was already sinking to the warm, _solid relief_ of the ground. I heard a deep voice stifle a chuckle beside me and I resisted the urge to open my mouth to snap at it.

Instead I looked up at my "savior"; a hooded man wearing a white garb that was lined with belts and pouches, his face was young, but a scar marred his chiseled features. Brown eyes rimmed with gold met my own and I gasped, a name spewing from my lips before I could stop it:

"Ezio…"

His eyes narrowed in to slits and I cringed, backing against the wall as he stalked closer, hands twitching slightly. I watched as the golden rims of his eyes quickly covered his brown irises—his eagle vision.

_Oh, sweet crap…_

"_Chi sono e come si fa a sapere il mio nome?_" He said, his accent ringing throughout the statement. At first, I literally felt my tongue twist: how the hell was I suppose to answer that?

But then, it was like I understood him—no, I didn't understand it per word, but it was like I could get what he wanted to say. The intent was clear as crystal: he was asking who I was... and how did I know him.

_God, I hope... whatever-this-is... worked both ways._

"My name is Dominique Arnetta, I mean you no harm." I intoned cautiously, slowly standing up. My knees were still wobbly but I clenched them tight, not wanting to appear unsure of my declaration. I raised my hands up—the universal sign of surrender. The assassin in front of me eyed me warily before relaxing his hands, though his posture remained tense. I sighed in relief, it worked both ways.

"_Che cosa è successo? Ho visto la tua faccia mi sembra che dall'interno della Apple e all'improvviso sei caduta dal cielo…_" Ezio continued to speak… but to me it just sounded like Italian nonsense—he wanted to say so much! His body remained tense as his eyes bored into my own. He seemed to sense my confusion and he stepped forward, his hand raised.

But at that moment, the moment his foot stepped an inch closer to me, I felt an intense _power_ surge through me—like that time while I was in the void when that bright, yellow orb almost touched me. I felt my "sensitivity" grow stronger and I couldn't help but moan. They were right, power _was_ sweet. My knees turned to Jell-O and I resisted the urge to collapse and just bask in the sweet nectar of it.

I didn't even notice Ezio had stopped moving, his eyebrow raised and an amused glint entered his eye. I noticed a smirk tug on his lips, and I was immediately reminded of the situation I was in. I forced myself to concentrate, and an idea popped into my mind:

"Ezio, may I touch you?" I asked, holding out a hand. The assassin tensed, but when he saw my lusty gaze—I'm ashamed to admit that Ezio's buffness also contributed—a cocky smirk spread across his face. He grasped my hand and pulled me to him. I resisted the urge to marvel at just how solid the man's body was.

I blinked rapidly and looked deep into his golden eyes. He blinked and immediately my hand was upon his temple.

Ezio stiffened and I immediately heard the sharp _schlink! _of his hidden blade. I choked back a scream and I focused on the power coursing through my body—power that coursed as soon as I touched the man. I willed myself to push… against what, I wasn't really sure. I just pushed mentally, forcing myself to breach the barrier of my mind and touch Ezio's own.

After a few tense seconds, I finally felt something brush against my thoughts. I grasped onto it and followed like it was a lifeline. Incoherent words registered in my mind but I brushed them aside, focusing on following the source of this train of thought: Ezio's mind.

I knew I reached my mark when I felt Ezio gasped, his eagle eyes widening. I was shoved back, the assassin's blade pushing itself against my throat. But the deed was done; I can now speak fluent Italian:

"_Hello, Ezio Auditore da Firenze. My name is Dominique Arnetta and I mean you no harm._"


	4. Viva La Dilemma

**HEY GUYS! :D I just wanna give an answer to everyone who recently reviewed this:**

**DEAR LucDeep: **Omaygohd, THANKS SO MUCH! :D I hope you approve of dis update. :3**  
**

**DEAR The Fox Familiar: **Thanks for reviewing, even though it was a flame. I hope that my future updates will be to your liking! ;)

**I hope you guys like this! R&R! :))**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

_"__For some reason I can't explain, I know Saint Peter won't call my name."_

_"__And I know what I know; and I know you're not good for me."_

**O~OO OO~O**

**Chapter 4: Viva La Dilemma **

Ezio's expression remained tense and the blade at my throat did not withdraw. His eyes bored into mine and I met his gaze head-on. I don't know what possessed me to do so, but it was like that trick I did—entering Ezio's mind and absorbing his knowledge of his Italian dialect—fueled me with adrenaline. I couldn't feel the fear gnawing at my bones at the fact that an _assassin _was standing in front of me with a drawn blade at my throat.

_Huh… I wonder what other things I can do now…_

The man was shocked, I could tell; the steely gaze of his eyes was like that of a cornered animal. The tremor of confusion that rang in his voice only affirmed my suspicions:

"What did you do to me?" His question was as clear as a bell now that the language barrier was gone, though his accent was still thick… but not enough to make the statement garbled.

"I…" I struggled with the correct statement. I wasn't stupid. I knew that people like me had been condemned as witches for what we could do. And to be honest, I'm not sure if the man in front of me was a believer or not.

"I learned your language." I stated simply. I tried not to gulp, as that would only push the blade further against my throat. I'd been honest; by entering his mind, I managed to grasp his vernacular and make it my own. Ezio searched my eyes and I gazed back, forcing the small thorn of guilt away from my chest.

Ezio did not withdraw his blade from my throat as he grabbed my arm and nudged me to the nearest ladder. I stumbled but caught myself just in time. I shot the assassin an indignant look before making my way down.

It was only when I was already at the foot of the ladder did I realize I was still wearing my comfy red hoodie and shorter-than-meant-for-public shorts. I was barefoot, for I felt the dampness of the pavement against the soles of my feet. The beige robe that was a gift from my aunt Ellen was still on me, and I wrapped it around me tighter. I was attracting a lot of curious stares from the milling crowd as I desperately tried to smooth down my unkempt hair—a result from the wind that sprayed it across all directions.

I just managed to flatten the nest that was my hair into a presentable tumble-down at my shoulder when I heard Ezio land beside me. I looked at him, his hood was still on. I was about to ask why when I remembered that in exchange for Ezio's deeds for justice, he became outlawed in every city and state.

He grabbed my arm and proceeded to walk me—of, course he would walk me. No gentleman would ever let a lady be dragged in public—past the marketplace and into an alley. I didn't fight it, mainly because I couldn't even if I tried. I stared in awe at the classical structures looming above us before I was shoved into an alley. I turned around, an indignant remark on my lips before he waved his hand ahead. It was then I realized that the alley was too narrow for us to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. I sighed loudly before continuing the march, my feet occasionally sinking into puddles and I resisted the urge to screech when I felt something fairly big scurry in-between my legs.

The adrenaline from my trick with Ezio was wearing off. I could feel myself slump forward as a mountain of questions piled up inside my mind: _Why is Ezio here? Where _am _I? This almost looks like_ Venice_, but how did I get here? Why was I falling...?_

Once we made it out, Ezio turned me to the left and stopped us in front of what seemed like a workshop. A name once more registered in my mind as to who _owned _said workshop but I stopped it before it could spew from my mouth like tapwater. Ezio gripped my arm tight before proceeding to knock on the wooden door.

"Just a moment!" a voice I heard so many times in the game answered. I resisted the urge to back away from the door like it was a bomb. _This can't be happening… he's not—_

But then the door swung open, and Leonardo da Vinci's smile met us. The assassin beside me softened slightly, but his grip on my arm did not.

I, on the other hand, snapped back to my situation as a moment of clarity cleared through the haze of questions that fogged my mind.

"Ezio!" the inventor-slash-anatomist-slash-cartographer-slash- painter-slash-botanist-slash-engineer-slash-archit ect-slash-mathematician said, a delighted light coming into his eyes. Then they landed on me and the artist quirked his head.

"And who is this?" He said, his smile never wavering. However, I noticed the artist's eyes slightly harden, and I winced. I extended my other arm hesitantly. I looked up at Ezio, who remained impassive. I looked back to Leonardo and attempted a smile, though the awe and slight fear in my eyes must've been obvious.

"Hello, I'm Dominique Arnetta." Leonardo watched me and his blue eyes must've seen the fear—bless his soul—for he immediately shook it.

"Leonardo da Vinci, my pleasure." The man said. Then he glared at the assassin, who I heard wince. "Ezio! Where are your manners? It is obvious you have scared this innocent _madonna._"

"Leonardo, I am not sure about that." Ezio intoned lowly, it sent shivers down my spine and Leonardo raised an eyebrow at the assassin. The artist's eyes wandered to me and his eyes widened.

"Is she a conspirator with the Borgia?" Leonardo asked. His eyes were now hard shards of ice boring into my own and I resisted the urge to whimper. Ezio shook his head:

"No, but—" the assassin looked around, his eagle eyes scanning the crowd milling about behind him. "I think we should continue this somewhere more private, no?"

Leonardo seemed to realize that we were still talking at his doorstep. His eyes widened and he stepped aside to let them in. Ezio deposited me at the chair beside the fire and I curled in it, hoping that the warmth of the flame would calm my shaking body—it wasn't because of cold, it was more of a shivering fear. It wasn't because of the assassin or the artist conversing in the other room. It was because I finally realized where I was in that moment of clarity… when Leonardo opened the door.

I was in Venice, Italy. Leonardo da Vinci was still alive and young. And assassins exist, if Ezio was anything to go by. I was in the 15th century, and I'm not sure—but I think I'm _in_ the video game. Assassin's Creed.

And I'll be damned… I have no idea how to get myself back home.

I curled up in the chair more, no matter how uncomfortable it became against my side, and whispered it to myself again and again, desperately hoping that by repeating this new string of information to myself again and again, I would remember just how ridiculous I was being and I would wake up:

"I'm in Venice. I'm in Italy. Leonardo da Vinci is alive. Ezio Auditore is alive. Ezio Auditore da Firenze was real. Assassins are real. I'm in Venice. I'm in Italy. Leonardo da Vinci is _alive_…"

I mumbled it continuously like it was mantra, creating my own safe bubble in the great Leonardo da Vinci's chair. And I hoped this was all a dream.

But at the same time; a small part of me, deep down, hoped it wasn't.


	5. Die Young, Domino

**JUST SOME ANSWERS TO THIS STORY'S LATEST REVIEW/S: **

**DEAR LunaLou: **Thanks! I actually noticed that in some fanfics I read, the girl always acts tough immediately. But I believe that women grow strong as a result from being exposed to turmoils and getting through them. That's what I want to accomplish here. ;) Thanks again for reviewing! :D

**DEAR BookwormStrawberry, LucDeep, cateye0911, gilraen88, and again Terra-Fair for following this fanfic! Alavyah! ;)**

**TO ALL da READERS, please R&R! :)))**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

_"I hear your heart beat to the beat of the beat of the drums."_

_"Now I'm breathing like I'm running `cause you're taking me there."_

**O~OO OO~O**

**Chapter 5: Die Young, Domino**

I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep until I felt someone drape a warm blanket around my curled body. I woke with a start, and the man—the artist, Leonardo—jumped back, a wary expression crossing his features. I straightened up, resisting the urge to groan at the cramps I was getting.

"Your position must have been uncomfortable, _signorina_," Leonardo commented, trying to disperse the tension in the room by walking calmly forward and draping the blanket around my shoulders. "I apologize; I did not have the heart to wake you. You have been asleep for quite some time."

"Some… time?" I repeated, the words not registering in my mind. But when I looked out, night had already fallen, and the streets were silent, though if I listened hard enough, I could hear the rambunctious shouts and laughter from the bars in the nearby streets.

"It is already nearing midnight, _signora _Arnetta, and—" the artist began; he was already helping me up when I stopped him, a question popping into my thoughts:

"Please call me Arnie." I immediately said. I never liked my last name, it sounded exotic and tongue-twisting. Why couldn't my parents be normal and have a normal last name like Smith? Or Jones? Or Jackson?

The artist nodded as he looped an arm around my back to pull me off the chair. The moment his hand made contact, I felt energy flow through me. It wasn't like that sweet, divine nectar that flowed from Ezio, this was purer… more _innocent_. Where the power that I absorbed from Ezio was rejuvenating, yet powerful and addictive, this felt more like a drink of pure water after a long hard day's work. I felt my mind clear instantly.

"Where's Ezio?" I asked, standing straighter than I was before. The artist noticed this and let go of my shoulders. The moment his hands left my shoulders, I sagged forward, my eyes drooping as I tried to fight off the drowsiness that suddenly clouded my mind.

Leonardo was immediately upon me, grabbing my arm and steadying me. The moment his touch regained contact, his… whatever-it-was flowed through me and I breathed in deep before exhaling, the fog-like lethargy dispersing in my head. Leonardo quirked a brow and moved to let go again, but I stopped him.

"No, wait… please don't let go of me." I whispered. His blue eyes widened and I realized what my statement must have sounded like. My cheeks burned as I giggled nervously.

"Oh my God, that sounded wrong." Leonardo chuckled, but didn't let go. I quickly racked my brain, thinking of ways of trying to get over the hangover that Ezio's presence—or, rather, lack thereof—left me to cope with. It was Leonardo's… let's call it "energy". Leonardo's energy… yeah, that sounds appropriate. It was Leonardo's _energy_ that's healing me. The problem was how to not really require the artist to be touching me as I absorbed his energy.

An idea popped into my head, and before I could think it through—desperation can really mess up your common sense—I turned around. Leonardo's eyes widened, but before he could react, my hands were upon his temple.

I was immediately assaulted with layers upon layers of emotions and memories; each memory with its designated emotion flooded my connection with the artist and I resisted the urge to make an "aww" sound; this man was innocent, more innocent than any of the people I had ever met while I was in New York.

Leonardo made a choked sound, and it dawned on me that the artist might—just _might_—be suffering. I quickly snapped out of my daze and shoved the crowding memories aside. In my panic, I chose the one memory I could think of that might contain the "innocent" energy I needed to recuperate: Leonardo's first meeting with Ezio.

I grasped onto it like a lifeline, letting the emotion of the moment—the innocent meeting between two men, the promise of friendship and brotherhood—flow through me, letting it cure me of the gaping hole Ezio's absence left me. Then when I felt I couldn't absorb anymore, I severed the connection.

Leonardo was still, his blue eyes wide and his mouth slacked open in shock. I waved my hand in front of his face. Nothing. Panic gripped my heart as I grabbed the nearest container—a ceramic jar that I guessed used to be filled with oil or something—and filled it with water at the pump. It took me a few seconds to fill up the whole thing, but when I came back, the artist was still in shock. This time, thorns of guilt stabbed at my heart as I rushed over.

"Mr. da Vinci?" I yelled, my shout echoing across the silent house. No response. Fear clawed at my heart as I splashed the water in his face. The artist choked and spluttered, and I laughed in relief.

"Oh, God! You're alright! You're alright!" I jumped, throwing my arms around the man. Leonardo stiffened and I immediately backed away, my palms raised up.

"I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, so, _sooooo _sorry." I said, my eyes brimming up with tears. I didn't know where they were coming from, but I didn't stop them from flowing down my cheeks. "Did I hurt you, sir? I'm so sorry. I-I just… I just wanted the hangover to stop so I just… and when I felt your energy it was _so_ pure and refreshing and I… I… oh, God… I'm so, so, so, sorry. I'm so selfish, damnit!"

I started sobbing and hiccupping along the lines of "I just wanted the hangover to stop…" Leonardo continued to gaze at me with mixed emotions; awe, fear, and slight confusion. He watched me sob uncontrollably for a few moments before finally snapping out of his stupor and shuffling forward. I felt him wrap his arms around me as he attempted to comfort me. I leaned onto his shoulder, trembling like a leaf in a storm:

"Oh, shush, now… shhh… it's alright, Arnie. It did not even hurt! _Mi dispace_, Arnie, if I frightened you. I did not—" Leonardo cooed in my ear. I was eye level with his chin, so hugging was no problem. But the moment I heard those two words—_mi dispace_—from the artist's mouth, I pulled my tear-streaked face away and glared at the artist:

"No, Mr. da Vinci; don't you dare apologize to me. I am the one who did wrong, even though you were not hurt. I haven't even mastered this ability yet, and already I am testing my limits without knowing of the pain it could cause to others. I'm…" I trailed off, but as soon as my own words registered in my head, a sob broke from my throat and the tears continued to flow. The man held me as I continued:

"I… I'm so _sorry_. I-I-I was selfish and… I didn't know... I didn't st-stop to think that absorbing the emotion from a past experience w-would hurt… if that is even what I did."

We stayed like that for a few minutes… hours… I didn't know. I had lost track of time. Somewhere along the line, we had sunk to the ground, the man's arms still rubbing comforting circles on my back. When I finally managed to calm down, I looked up at the artist who held me; Leonardo's eyes were gazing off into space, his thoughts must be rampaging at the shitload of information I unleashed in my whiny ramblings. I winced internally.

"Mr. da Vinci, I would like to go to bed, now." I whispered, not trusting my voice. The artist woke up from his trance and looked at me with a soft smile that reached his blue eyes. I felt the remaining vestiges of guilt dislodge itself from my heart. I allowed him to lift me up and guide me to what I guessed to be the guest bedroom.

Once I was deposited on the bed, I immediately burrowed under the covers, desperately seeking the illusion of comfort it provided. I whispered a small "thank you" into what I assumed to be the already-empty room. But no, the artist was still there, watching over me in the chair beside the bed. I heard him hum in response as my eyes drifted close. The last thing I heard was:

"_Nessun problema,_ oh, and you may call me Leonardo. Rest now, for you have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow."


	6. Time for Our Little Talks

**JUST A REPLY TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED CHAPTER 5! (when in fact it was just one XDD):**

**Dear The Fox Familiar: **I'm heading there! :3 I can't just suddenly pop her into training while Ezio is fighting the Borgia in Venice now, could I? That is totally not in the canon! I wanna stick to the flow of events in the original game as much as possible. And I already have something in mind for Arnie and Ezio's relationship—what do you think Dominique Arnetta means? So I hope you understand. :/ And I hope that you will not reply to _this_ reply with a sarcastic flame because I am only abiding by the rules you laid out in _your_ profile. :P ;)

**And I ALSO wanna send a shoutout to Newfankidd; thanks so much for following this story! :D**

**I hope you guys enjoy this update! R&R! :3**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

"_It's time to begin, isn't it?_"

"_Though the truth may vary, this__ s__hip will carry our __bodies safe to shore._"

**O~OO ****OO~O**

**Chapter 6: Time for Our Little Talks**

I woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread.

My eyes opened slowly, my mind not yet registering why the ceiling of my bedroom was a dark brown instead of the off-white scheme I asked the decorators to paint it. But suddenly, everything came crashing back to me: me falling and Ezio catching me—the _assassin _Ezio—, Ezio leading me to the workshop of the great Leonardo da Vinci—who was still _young, _and not dead—and my breakdown last night.

_But he forgave me… and for now, I guess that would have to be enough._

I sat up, the warm blankets falling of my body and pooling at my lap. My robe was still on me, and so was my hoodie and shorts. I pulled the blankets off of me and stood up, slightly shuddering when the hard, cold floor met my bare feet. I left my robe open as I folded the blankets and fixed the sheets, but tied it again—though not as tight as yesterday in the streets—as I went downstairs.

The artist was painting, a concentrated look on his face. He was even doing one of those things really focused people do when they stick their tongue out an angle, I found the sight funny and slightly terrifying; this man was the _great _Leonardo da Vinci! He should've been dead for centuries! And yet here I am, standing at the foot of his stairs, watching him behave like any normal, focused person would.

The man didn't notice me as I padded to the table where a glass of wine and some freshly-baked loaves of bread were left out for me. It seems that the artist had not yet eaten… or bathed, if the oily hair and slight body odor was anything to go by. I cringed.

I sat myself down and tucked in, glancing up from time to time at the artist whose hands never seemed to leave the canvas if only to dab his paintbrush into his palette and resume painting. The man's blue eyes were boring into the canvas, as if by adding the right mixture of color and shade the answer to all of the world's questions would be revealed. I continued to watch, entranced, while I took bites out of the bread.

The bread itself was good; warm and soft, straight out of the oven. The wine… I never liked liquor. Maybe if I and Leonardo became friends—ha! Now there's something you don't see every day; a writer befriending the greatest artist of all time—maybe I could ask him to get me just water… or coffee. Ugh, how I would _kill _for a mocha frappe right now.

After I finished, the man was _still_ painting. I had left the artist three loaves of bread along with a half-eaten croissant—I wanted to know what it tasted it like!—and a full bottle of wine. I crossed over to his table and looked at his work from over his shoulder:

I gasped; I was watching Leonardo paint the _Virgin of the Rocks_, commissioned in Milan by Prior Bartolomeo Scorlione for the Confraternity of the Immaculate Conception. I saw this once when we went to the National Gallery in London on our school field trip. Only this one seemed different, the setting here seemed to be in the day—or at least had a source of light that covered the entire scene—whereas the Gallery-in-London version was… I guess the word is "darker"? Why was that?

I brushed the question aside. The artist still hadn't noticed me, so I decided to test the waters a little. I leaned in, my chin now brushing his shoulders, and whispered:

"What is it called?" I asked, not bothering to feign wonder in my tone as I really was amazed by his work.

The artist jumped, the paintbrush flying out of his hands. No paint splattered on the canvas, but the floor was immediately littered with drops of reds, yellows, and blues.

"_Merda!_" the artist gasped as he turned in shock, clutching at his chest. I didn't have to know Italian to understand that Leonardo swore. I winced and stepped back. I attempted to smile and I scratched my head sheepishly. I looked down so that the artist won't have to see the embarrassment spreading as a blush across my cheeks.

"S-sorry…" I said, fighting back the guilt from last night's "experiment". Leonardo's eyes finally adjusted to me and a soft smile lit up his face.

"_Va tutto bene,_" _It's alright_… I sighed in relief but still didn't look up. "Have you eaten?"

I nodded, my head still bowed. I watched my toes play with each other, still too ashamed to look up. Leonardo chuckled.

"It is alright, Arnie. You only shocked me; it is nothing to worry about." The artist assured me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and upon seeing the genuine forgiveness in his eyes, I smiled too.

"Now," he patted my shoulder one more time before leading me to the dining table. I sat on one end of the table while he the other. He laced his hands together and I resisted the urge to do the same. His gaze wasn't piercing, but it held me in place.

"Would you mind telling me what happened?"

* * *

I sagged against the chair, my mind trying to come up with an explanation that didn't sound like lying, and yet wasn't the whole truth either. A few seconds passed by in silence as I looked down in my own hands, contemplating the answer to his easy, yet intensely difficult question.

Finally, I just decided to speak the truth, and to talk to him like I would talk to any other person in my time:

"Which one; with you or with Ezio?" I asked, trying to put sass (or _chutzpah,_ as I would personally like to call it) in my tone. The artist was stunned for a moment before his laugh filled the room.

"How about let's start from the beginning, shall we?" Leonardo said, calming down. "Ezio says he saw _you_, your face, in—" Leonardo cut himself off immediately, but I knew what he was going to say. I immediately remembered what Ezio rambled to me—or was it to himself?—when we first met:

_"__Che cosa è successo? Ho visto la tua faccia mi sembra che dall'interno della Apple e all'improvviso sei caduta dal cielo…"_

_What happened? I saw your face inside the Apple and all of a sudden, you're falling from the sky…_

"He saw my face in the Apple, didn't he?" I asked, not bothering to look up, already knowing that the artist was once again speechless by how much I know. Nonetheless, Leonardo nodded.

"Yes, he saw your face. And a few moments later, you were falling from the sky." Leonardo said. I could literally feel the curiosity oozing from this man, a drive to discover the forces behind my sudden appearance in this time and place. Well, join the club.

"I… I honestly don't know how it happened. And Mr. da—Leonardo, have you noticed my clothes? They're not exactly from around here." I said. The artist nodded.

"And the way you spoke to Ezio, before you suddenly learned to speak our language… Ezio described it to me and it sounded like English. Where do you come from?"

"I think you also mean to ask me: _when _do I come from?" I clarified, looking up to see a mortified expression overtaking the artist's curious one just a second ago. "I come from the future, the year 2012, to be exact. I come from the city of New York, America."

The artist was silent, but I pressed on. Now that I knew where to begin, I could now lay out the questions and the answers to said questions… this has always been my method, and will continue to be so until the end of time. Period.

"Okay, that answers your question to where I came from. But now," I stood up and began pacing the front of the fireplace like some sort of detective solving a particularly hard riddle:

"These questions remain: How did I get here? Was it because of the Apple? And I've never been able to do what I did with you and Ezio before; I've never been able to enter another person's mind and extract information. I'm a _sensitive_, not a telepath. And I've never been this reliant on the energies of other people before, I feel like a vampire or something…" I was rambling now, I knew that. But the artist followed my pacing and he seemed like he was listening intently, so why stop now?

"Oh, and Leonardo, you never did answer my question," I flopped back down on the chair with a sigh, the artist following my every movement with a keen eye. "Where did Ezio go?"

At the name of the assassin, Leonardo snapped out of his stupor and he suddenly jumped up. His face screwed up in determination. I recognized the look; it was the same look I would get whenever I was encountered with a really, _really_ hard question or riddle, and everything I know would have to be put to the test.

I smiled, it was nice to see the great Leonardo da Vinci act like a normal person. My smile never left my face as his own words battled the questions I posed for him:

"It is refreshing to see someone else look at things in such a logical light," Leonardo began, his eyes appraising me. I fought down the blush that threatened to bloom; I've had enough blushes for today. "For your first question, yes; the Apple could have played a part. But, I must apologize; I do not understand what you mean by being a 'sensitive'. To me—and it seemed to Ezio as well—you are a witch, though I do not believe in the existence of witches, nor of the craft they practice."

This time, I wasn't able to stop the blush that turned my face scarlet. I crossed my legs and tucked my hands in my hoodie. I hurriedly explained:

"I also don't believe in witches. But, honestly, Leonardo, I don't know the limits—or extents—of what I can do _here_. In my time; I am only limited to the occasional dream of the future, or sometimes, I can 'guess' what the weather will be tomorrow or if the child to be borne by a pregnant woman will be a boy or a girl, twins or triplets. When I came here, it's like I can do _so_ much more. But…" I trailed off, looking at Leonardo, who was now staring at me with pure awe and fear in his eyes.

Sympathy for this man entered my heart; I felt the same thing when I realized I was different; I wasn't the normal girl-next-door, and I would never be... I _could_ never be.

I stood up, walking over to where the artist was standing still. I put both my hands on his shoulders—ignoring the surge of emotional power I felt when I touched him—and looked into his eyes:

"Leonardo, I am not a witch, even though you don't believe in them. Not to be arrogant or rude, but all of the people I have met have called me kind and caring. I intend to be the same for you and everyone we meet here." I said, saying my words slowly, pouring my sincerity into every word. "I will continue where I left off, okay? Please promise me to keep an open mind."

I had _no_ idea when I became such an expert on the nature of my sensitivity. But I had no choice; I had to satisfy the curiosity that this chronic procrastinator possessed, and also calm the fears that I had indirectly inflicted on him in my short time here.

Leonardo nodded and I let go of his shoulders, the connection breaking. I led him to his chair and sat him down; I sat down on my own and laced my hands together.

"When I came here, I found my… 'sensitivity', if you may, _enhanced_: I could enter yours and Ezio's minds to get information, or memories. But…" and here I looked up at the man once more, the artist nodded, determined. "But now that I am here, it's like I'm dependent on something… your energies.

"When I met Ezio, I was able to _feel_ his energy, just like when I touched _you_ last night. Now, when I first touched Ezio, his energy was invigorating, yet addictive. Yes, when I absorbed his energy, I felt powerful… but as soon as he left me here, I was forced to deal with its aftereffects: it sorta… drained me. It's hard to explain, but as soon as he left, I felt empty, and that is _not_ a good feeling.

"But when I touched you... your energy was purer, like it was _cleaner_ or something. It wasn't as powerful as Ezio's, but yours was—is refreshing and rejuvenating… without the hangover aftereffect.

"So there, does knowing what I can do make you feel better?" I asked. I noticed that the man's gaze was unfocused. I could tell he was still processing the _new_ shitload of information I bombed on him, and so I didn't snap him out of it. Instead, I reached out my hand and took his own, rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand in what I hoped to be a comforting gesture.

Slowly, Leonardo's face cleared up and he looked at me. I was shocked to see understanding in his blue orbs. The fear was still there, but it was mostly gone, replaced by awe and determination.

"Then you will be able to help us fight the Borgia, yes?"


	7. If I Radioactive Myself

**JUST SOME REPLIES FIRST TO THOSE WHO REVIEWED IN CHAPTER 6: :3**

**Dear LunaLou: **Thanks again! :D I promise to show it soon, but not too soon! I wanna follow the advice of one of the reviewers here to take it slow... have some character development. Thanks for the taking the time to review, daaahling! :))

**Dear AvatarofBahamut: **After reading your review, I looked back on the previous chapter and saw that you were right. I wanna apologize; school is getting hard on me now that we have a MAJOR MAJOR production going on. But you're right, and from now on, I will try. Thanks for the constructive criticism! :D (P.S. Why does your name sound familiar? Is Bahamut a god or something? I'm pretty sure I've read about him somewhere before :3)

**AND I WANNA SEND A SHOUTOUT TO ChocolateDaddie for Fave-ing this fanfic! Thanks so much! :D**

**Now, on to the FANFIC! R&R! :D**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

"_You can feel the light start to tremble, washing what you know out to sea."_

"_I'm waking up; I feel it in my bones._"

**O~OO****OO~O**

**Chapter 7: If I Radioactive Myself**

_"Then you will be able to help us fight the Borgia, yes?"_

I quickly drew my hand back. Leonardo was still looking at me, his blue eyes pools of flame that smoldered with determination and righteous fury. I bit my lip and looked down watching my fingers play the table—a habit I do when I'm nervous… or excited… hell, right now, I'm both.

"I… umm…" I tried to say something… but what was I supposed to say? That I know how this game ends? And that I know that Leonardo will eventually be captured by the Borgia and will be forced to construct machines of war? Oh, fuck it; the ultimate question is: what am I even _doing_ here?

"Yes…?" I trailed off. Leonardo raised an eyebrow, and I immediately cursed internally. Of course this man could detect a lie; he _is_ the greatest artist of all time.

I sighed. Honestly, I didn't know what to do! Should I go along with this and follow the plot of the game like how it was initially laid out? Or should I run away, find a safe place somewhere far away where the Borgia conflict won't reach me?

_But then again, I am broke here… and I'm still wearing the clothes of _my _time... not to mention they _do _look a little bit slutty. If I won't starve to death, I'll be raped for sure. Would that even be a bad thing? Of course, it'd be a bad thing! God, I'm getting desperate…_

Before my internal, sexually-depraved conflict could go any further, I shook my head. Leonardo saw this and his eyebrows furrowed in concern. I smiled to show him I was alright and sat up straighter, and, letting more certainty steel my tone, I said:

"Yes. I will fight. But one problem though, I have no idea how to hold a sword."

Leonardo smiled grimly, "Don't worry, _madonna_, I'm sure Ezio can help with that."

I nodded, taking the advice in stride; I already knew Leonardo would relay me to Ezio for training. But to make sure that we got off on a happy note, I replied:

"Okay… but he better not take advantage of me; there's a difference between teaching me how to hold a sword and how to hold _his_ sword."

* * *

It's hard to believe I've already been with the artist for over four months.

The days just seemed to blur together into a monotonous repetition of yesterday's activities—though it was never boring… well, not for _me_, at least. I spent the _whole_ of the first month trying not to freak out at everything that the Renaissance lacked: which was to say, _everything._ So, yes, it took me a while to get used to doing normally "automatic" things—to me, at least—like washing the dishes (without a dishwasher), entertaining myself (Leonardo wasn't the richest man on the block), and cooking (again, the artist wasn't the richest man on the block—his budget stopped me from trying some of the more complicated recipes I know how to cook).

I'd already been in the middle of my second month here when I remembered Leonardo _still_ hadn't answered my question about Ezio's whereabouts. Leonardo replied that before he saw me in the Apple, he was just returning from his fight with The Spaniard, Rodrigo Borgia.

I had almost the dropped the bowl I was holding (I was trying the Renaissance version of fried rice, which mostly consisted of chopped ham, slices of cheese, diced onions, some thyme—no rice since I didn't know where to buy them) containing the cooked ham and diced onions.

I forgot… this was the part where Desmond's memory sequence in the Animus becomes corrupted.

_Is this why I'm here; to fill in the gap of some fictional guy's memory of a sexy, womanizing, Italian assassin?_

"But do not worry, Arnie," Leonardo assured me, "it is normal for my friend to disappear for _months_ without a trace, and just suddenly return one day should he need a Codex page deciphered. I am sure he is fine."

Was it my imagination, or did the artist sound slightly bitter?

Leonardo was also kind enough to buy me some new clothes; it took a whole day of shopping for me to find some clothes that Leonardo could afford—he insisted on making sure that I liked them "truly", and that it was not only for "his benefit". I resisted the urge to roll my eyes; the artist only did want the best for me after all.

The day Leonardo insisted he buy me my own set of clothes and not rely on some spare sheets that I managed to sew together into a suitable dress (Trixie used to teach me how to sew simple cross stitches whenever my barista apron required stitching), my heart swelled and I resisted the urge to cry. I did not want to go all Dobby on the man—he was like the homosexual father I never had… or just the father I never had.

I also loved the way Leonardo would try and understand how my "sensitivity" worked; he would frequently ask questions about tomorrow's weather, or if I could also see the energies of the people outside, or were my abilities limited to his and Ezio's. I remember smiling, slightly amused and slightly disturbed that another person would be so interested in something I could only so recently do:

"I'm not really sure, Leo," I took to calling him that a few weeks after I was dropped off here. It was the first nickname that popped into my mind and it just stuck. "I can't really _see_ energy. Remember that I had to have physical contact with both you and Ezio so that I could know the nature of your energies? I believe the same principle applies with everyone else."

But the artist's question got me curious: I began to wonder if, now that my powers were enhanced; it could actually get to the point wherein I could _see_ the energies of other people and, God help it, I could absorb it without physical contact.

So at the end of my second month with the artist, I tried to experiment:

* * *

I tagged along with Leonardo on his morning market runs, same as usual. I wore a dull green dress with a faded, brown bodice. I sewed in some red accents on the sleeves and skirt and I wore the clogs we managed to get at a very cheap price (I later found out why it was cheap the hard way when I walked in them the first time)… all in all; I looked like a Spirit of Christmas gone broke.

The artist locked the door behind us as we walked down the cobblestone streets to the marketplace beside the Venetian Canal. We were nearing the square that separated us from the wet market, but before we crossed it, I looped my arms Leonardo and pointed to a wooden doll on display.

"Leonardo, look!" I exclaimed, feigning excitement as I dragged him away from our normal path to the market and to the doll on display. The owner of the stall wasn't there at the moment, but I didn't care; I just needed an excuse to touch the man. Said artist chuckled.

"Yes, fascinating, isn't it?" He said, but I wasn't paying attention anymore; the moment we stopped in front of the stall I let myself be immersed in the energy flowing from the artist. Then I emptied my mind, allowing the sounds of the bustling crowd and Leonardo's occasional 'hmm' to be the droning background. I opened my eyes, and—in the process—I willed them to see _everything_.

I gasped and Leonardo turned, his eyebrows raised in question and worry. But I didn't notice him, nor did notice his feeble attempts of withdrawing his arm from my grip. I was more focused on the air _around_ us:

"Oh my…" I trailed off, too in awe with what I was seeing. It's kind of hard to explain; imagine Ezio's Eagle vision—while its focus is on the people and the background just fades into blacks and whites, _my _sight sees the energy imbued _within_ the environment itself. The people fade into tiny, unfocused pinpricks and reds and blues while the air around us shimmered and rippled with sparks of black and white.

Leonardo finally managed to wrench his hand free from my grip, but my sight didn't go away. I kept my eyes trained on the sky, widening when I saw tendrils of black and white extend from the rippling body of the sky like some grotesque squid.

I took a step forward, bumping into a man holding a fairly large crate. The box tumbled out of his arms and shattered into splinters of wood, its contents scattering across the cobblestone. The man cursed in Italian and glared at me as he walked towards me—but still I didn't notice him, too entranced by the nearing tendrils of black and white energy.

The man was a few feet away, while the tendrils were mere inches from my fingertips. A small crowd had gathered around us—all of them whispering and pointing at me as I raised my hand, reaching for something invisible that looked like it was coming from directly over their heads. The man I bumped meanwhile was two feet… one foot… ten inches… away when—

The tendrils met my fingertips. And I was suddenly filled with memories: I saw births, deaths, poverty, corruption, injustice, rebellion, and an orb of gold that was carried by a man wearing white… I saw courtesans, thieves, merchants, doctors, blacksmiths, artists, nobles, beings clad in white that bore the Assassin insignia… I saw them all in the blink of an eye.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The man yelled. He turned me around—my guess intending to give me a piece of his mind—but screamed with shock and fell back when he saw my eyes were rolled at the back of my head. The crowd gasped as I swooned, and Leonardo rushed forward and caught me before my head hit the hard ground.


	8. Here's to The Climb

**FIRST OF ALL: I'M REAAAAAALLLY  SORRY for the late update. Updates will _probably_ get later and later now that my school time is bitching to me about requirements and stress and no writing.**

**NEXT, A reply to LunaLou: **I hope this chapter clarifies her "new" ability. Thanks for understanding and I'll try not to turn her into a sword-swinging Assassin. :3 But I can't promise... to be honest, i write what comes to me. ;)

**AND LASTLY, a shoutout to Cruel Angel of Heaven or Rhi, Link's Rose, animecrazygirl1, metalatron-she-lives, shivari, and for FAVING this fanfic. I hope I don't let you guys (or girls) down! :D I ALSO WANNA SHOUT OUT TO Acrobatic-Sora, Candy908, Cereza101, Cruel Angel of Heaven or Rhi, Link's Rose, TheMidnightRuby, and shivari for FOLLOWING this story! I hope you don't stop following it! :)**

**AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADIEU:**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

_"__Say, won't you stay forever… stay? If you stay forever, hey, we can stay forever young.__"_

_"There's always gonna be another mountain. I'm always gonna wanna make it move."_

**O~OO****OO~O**

**Chapter 8: Here's to The Climb**

"_And thus, the dawning of the Mystic's new powers did manifest, and she shall set straight the discord sowed by her Adversary."_

The voice rang through the silent void. Even from where I was, I could feel the authority, the power in it. It set my teeth on edge, and though I didn't know where I was, I felt the urge to run and hide under a hole forever and ever and _ever—_

I moaned into the blackness as a pounding began to spread from where I assumed my head would be. I willed the pounding in my temples to stop. But that only worsened it, and I felt the urge to vomit.

"_And so, their battle nears; a struggle that will correct the dissonance in the harmony set by the universe. Sacrifice will go beyond that the flesh can present, for they shall struggle over the very fabric of Time, the very soul of the future."_

The message was ominous, and the woman's grim tone—for the voice sounded like it belonged to a woman—didn't help at all. But I felt a cool hand laid itself on my forehead, and the throbbing ceased. The severity of the message disappeared, draining out of my memory like dirty dishwater down the drain. What was it again? What did she say? It didn't matter, I was tired. I slipped into a darker darkness; and this time, I remained undisturbed.

* * *

I later realized that I had been unconscious for three days. When I woke up, I remember gasping as I my mind registered the artist's tired, bloodshot eyes and his trembling fingers as he struggled to maintain the weak grip he had on the cup he had been holding to my lips. Said cup fell to the floor as soon as the man saw my eyes open;

"A-Arnie?" The artist whispered; his bloodshot eyes wide. I resisted the urge to cringe and instead allowed the feeling of guilt wash over me as I quickly sat up and hugged Leonardo, whose shoulders began to tremble.

"Leonardo, what happened?" I asked hesitatingly. The artist had begun to sob against me and I rubbed soothing patterns on his back.

"I… I thought you were dead, _il mio amico_. You…" here the man took a shuddering breath, and I felt my own catch in my throat. "You would not wake up, no matter what, or how hard I tried. At first I… I-I thought you were dead."

Leonardo choked back a sob and I was shocked and saddened by just how much this affected the artist. "But I could still hear your heart beating… and y-you were still breathing. It seemed like you fell asleep… but you didn't wake up."

He trailed off and I didn't push him for any more details. I pushed the questions '_How did I get here?'_ and _'What happened in the square after I fainted?'_ to the back of my mind and focused on comforting the man who sobbed uncontrollably against my neck. I whispered apologies, begged and pleaded for his forgiveness against his ear as the sky darkened outside.

I let a tear trail down my cheek as my heart ached for the suffering I caused the man.

* * *

I shook my head quickly and walked back to the house, where Leonardo was painting another commission for God-knows-who. The wind gently blew against me, making my skirt billow around my legs and my hair to trail behind me. I didn't want to cut it just yet, though it had already begun to fall past my waist. Yesterday's ghosts are not meant for those living in the present; Leonardo had already forgiven me for that stunt I pulled and I wasn't going to wallow in the past—er, _further_ in the past.

"Arnie?" the artist called out from his workstation. I hummed in reply as I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. "Would you mind buying me some more paint from the art merchant a few streets away? I am running out of blacks and blues and this commission needs to be finished by tomorrow."

I made a _tsk tsk_ sound as I walked over to where the artist was painting feverishly. I sat down on a stool nearby, not even bothering to look—I already knew it was amazing—up at the canvas. I took a long gulp of water before standing up and refilling the glass for the artist. The man took it gratefully and took a sip before dipping his paintbrush inside. I laughed and grabbed the glass before the man could put it to his lips again.

"Hey!" he remarked, though slightly off-handedly as his focus returned to the canvas. I laughed and cleaned the glass before putting it away.

"I don't mind." I said; grabbing the shawl I managed to haggle from a merchant on the other side of Venice. It was a simple beige shawl that covered me up just fine when the weather got a little chilly. Leonardo had already put out a small purse of coins for me; I picked it up and pecked the man on the cheek before heading out.

"I'm going now!" I yelled back, adjusting my shawl and my grip on the basket while walking to the door. "And _yes_, I'll make sure not to spend the change on anything 'not important'. And make sure to finish that before dinner; I don't want your 'artsy' hands on the same food _I'm _eating!"

The artist's laugh rang behind me as I shut the door.

I felt the shawl slip down my shoulders and pool around my arms as I adjusted my grip on the basket. Luckily, the day wasn't chilly (November was coming around). I breathed in the scent of autumn in Venice as I took the long route to the merchant.

The faded sunlight shone on the facades of the well-worn, but still-majestic buildings as I took in the sights of people walking by me; middle-class citizens, beggars, merchants, parents and their children… people from all walks of life milled around me as I stepped onto the square where I fainted.

Leonardo had said that the man didn't press charges (though I suspected that Leonardo played a part in that), and that the crowd dispersed as soon as Leonardo announced that I was still breathing, only unconscious. A doctor had been called to the scene and had diagnosed me with a slight fever and prescribed me some medicine which Leonardo quickly stashed away—as opposed to throwing it in the gutter, which would have been _my _plan—as soon as we reached his house.

I sighed as I held the basket closer to my chest. Ever since that day, ever since I saw_ everything_, I kept taking it upon myself to try again and again—to see the energies these unsuspecting people leave behind whenever they love, murder, rob, or steal. It took me a while to guess—at the most—what I had seen then.

Leonardo was a big help, bringing up the definitions I posed for him when he brought this up the first time with me:

**~O~O~**

Eventually, after a few late nights with cups of tea and stale bread, we managed to come to a conclusion: what I had seen was, in fact, energy… or rather, the energies that the people had imbued upon the environment—the very air itself.

"_But what about those black and white tendrils?" _I had asked then. Leonardo had been taking a long sip from his tea, which had already gone cold. The artist had hummed thoughtfully before putting down the cup and nibbling on a loaf of bread.

"_I would like to believe that, akin to the human conscience's ability to discern what is right from what is wrong, those two colors were the warring natures of people—the generic 'conscience' of the 'energies' people release."_

I resisted the urge to comment on how this man knew the nature of my powers even better than _me._

But he was right: and I didn't need to ask him how that energy was released; I've watched enough _Medium_ and _Ghost Whisperer_ episodes, read enough books on the occult and spiritualism, to know that energy is released through events—both joyous and poignant.

When deeds charged with intent—whether malicious or benevolent—are carried out, energy is released. But it's not like the electricity that powers up an appliance … on second thought, yeah, it _could_ be like that—only people like me are the "appliances" in this equation.

I had feigned a satisfied sound and had finished my cup of tea.

**~O~O~**

I blinked, snapping myself out of my thoughts, and immediately; an alley a few feet to my right caught my attention. I ducked into it and took a deep breath.

Most of the times I've tried "looking", it didn't work. It was like I needed to tap into someone else's energy for the _environment's _energy to become visible to me. But after what happened with Leonardo, I didn't want to risk any more blackouts.

I took another deep breath, forcing my mind to calm down. I immediately recalled the first time I touched someone from this era—when I touched Ezio. I had pushed against something… something that had been stopping me from reaching out into the consciousness of another.

I furrowed my eyebrows and clutched the bag tighter to my chest as I pushed mentally, focusing my thoughts on a single spot in the middle of my forehead. I imagined myself—_willed_ myself to break free of whatever it is that's blocking me from seeing the _true_ nature of things.

"Come on, come on, come on, _come on_…" I muttered to myself while the clutching the bag tighter and tighter.

Slowly, I felt something trickle down my forehead. I gasped and my eyes flew open, expecting the world to once more be engulfed by blacks, whites, and shades of grey. But then I felt that "something" trickle down my nose and on my lips, I stuck out my tongue to taste it, but immediately spat it out and gagged.

Oh, God… that tasted like shit water. _Literally_:

"Oh, God! Blegh!" I shrieked, before bending over and gagging, eventually bringing up the contents of my stomach. Eventually, my tummy ran out of things barf out, so I began to dry-heave. "Fuck—you! Oh… god…!"

I bundled my shawl and used it to wipe the vomit out of my mouth before dumping it in the basket. I stumbled out of the alley and backed against the wall opposite it, ignoring the protests of some of the people I bumped into. I leaned against the cement and closed my eyes, shuddering against the wall.

"Whoever the hell thought of the idea to dump shit in alleys deserves to have a foot shoved up so far up _his_ shitter, that his—" I muttered to myself, still heaving in breaths of the cool, autumn air; but I immediately cut myself off as I realized that the air seemed to have darkened while I was in the shade.

I cursed my luck, and my hand immediately shot into the basket to grab my barf-smelling shawl. My hand had already wrapped around the cloth when I noticed a vibration seep into my bones.

It was more of a pleasant hum more than anything. It made every cell of my body come alive, not in a bad way, but not entirely good either. After a few moments of just standing there, I realized that the vibrations seemed to come from a point in my forehead.

I opened my eyes, and I nearly screamed in delight… it worked! The world was in black and white again!

I sucked in a sharp breath as some of the tendrils began to drift nearer. I didn't reach out to them, though. I only let them float around me. I could actually _feel _the energy pulse in them; feel the beat to the rhythm of my heart. I resisted the urge to just reach out and take it. I can handle it now… I know how to use it… I just _wantwantwantwant it—_

'_Control yourself, mortal.' _A woman's voice spoke in my ear, it sounded confident and authoritative, powerful.

I screamed as a flood of yellow light engulfed my vision. I shuddered as I felt the vibrations in my cells intensify, and I collapsed on the hard ground. In the background I heard people whispering, and behind that I heard the soft, but firm clip-clopping of a horse galloping, and the shouts of a city guard rang in my mind, but it sounded muffled.

But immediately, I stopped paying attention to this as the light—this pure, powerful, divine light… seemed to seep into my bones and pull me up, higher and higher. I was soaring, an eagle in the sky; gifted with incredible powers, and burdened with glorious purpose.

A voice spoke to me again… only this time it wasn't the woman's authoritative tone; no, this time it sounded more like a man's voice. It was rich and exotic, yet somewhat oily and derisive. I cringed mentally.

'_Now, it is time for you to continue; the interlude has passed… and now, it is time for this Grand Drama to proceed.'_

A golden hand stretched from the sea of light and covered my eyes, and everything was gone.

* * *

**Don't forget to leave some precious REVIEWS! :D Your love gives me strength, your words stoke my fire! XDD #AlmostButNotQuiteDesperate**


	9. Miss Jackson Knows

Hi guys! Sorry for the late update! :(( No excuses, just this apology... ;) I also wanna explain that THE NAME OF THIS CHAPTER WAS TOO LONG FOR THE... SOMETHING... SO I HAD TO CUT IT WITH AN ELLIPSIS. :3

**JUST A RESPONSE TO THE REVIEWS OF:**

**Dear LunaLou: **Thanks! And if you're still reading this, I wanna thank you for being patient with me. O:)

**Dear LucDeep: **Thankz daaahling! :D I hope you like this one, too! :3

And I wanna send a** SHOUTOUT **to** LadyRocelyn **and** poisedrose **for** following **this fic!Also,** hugs and kisses **to** SoullessSky **and** LadyRocelyn (again) **for** adding this story to their faves list. **I love you guys (and girls)!

**AND NOW...!**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

_"A face like heaven catching lighting in your nightgown,"_

_"I'm in the details with the devil so now the world can never get me on my level."_

**O~OO OO~O**

**Chapter 9: Miss Jackson Knows What You Did in The Dark**

_There was nothing, nothing at all. I couldn't see, hear, smell, or _feel_ anything. Was this what death was like? Was this what every person would go through the moment their string was cut? Was this what every person went through before their spirits would rise up, independent of their bodies?_

_I couldn't speak, I wasn't _breathing, _and yet my lungs did not ache with the need for air. But every time I tried to bring air into me, it was like something was blocking my nostrils… I didn't know what the hell was happening… until I realized that this might be because there is _no _air to breathe in._

Where am I?

**~O~O~O~**

_Il Vaticano (December 1499)_

**"The rest is up to you now, Desmond."**

"What? Who is Desmond? I don't understand… please wait! I have so many questions!"

But the figure didn't return, nor did her voice reverberate forth from the walls of chamber again. There was only silence, like that of a tomb's.

The assassin walked forward, silently willing the chamber to repeat the message again, for the moving painting of the goddess Minerva to show itself again. There were so many questions… _too _many questions…

Ezio sighed as he turned his back on the empty dais, willing his feet to take one step at a time—away from the mysteries left unsolved, away from the too many questions that involved this place: Who was she? Who was Desmond? Why was he sent here if the painting did not even mean to speak to him… but to a phantom?

But just as Ezio was about to take another step, a voice spoke from the walls:

"_Do not forget to bring your friend along with you._"

**~O~O~O~**

_Out of nowhere, I felt cool air brush against my skin. I shuddered, not used to feeling _something_ after an eternity of _nothing_. The cool air wrapped itself around my body like a cloak, and I was both elated and terrified to finally _feel_ something while inside this void._

**~O~O~O~**

Ezio whirled around, hidden blade at the ready. The chamber remained empty, but where did that voice come from? It was not that of Minerva's; the voice had been that of a man's. It was oily and commanding... it reminded Ezio of the slippery tongues of liars, combined with the imposing confidence of an official.

Behind the assassin, the tablets engraved with glowing lines and mysterious symbols began to sink out of sight. The chamber echoed with the sound of stone grinding against stone and clouds of dust puffed from the holes in the ground where the stone tablets sunk out of sight.

Ezio remained tense, his eyes sharp in the darkness. However, he jumped back when he felt something smooth touch—no, when he felt something _caress_ his face.

The assassin trained his eyes on what did it: a strip of cloth. It was white, pale as moonlight and as bright as starlight. Ezio stared at it entranced, before his suspicious mind registered that it seemed to extend from a source. The _assassino_ readied his throwing knives and took a deep breath.

The man's head shot up:

"_Merda!_" the assassin yelled as he rolled away from the floating figure of Dominique Arnetta.

**~O~O~O~**

_A new sensation overcame me: floating. Before, I felt like there was nothing, like I was lying down on a slab of something hard—not hot, not cold; now it was like a soft, shifting cushion was keeping me up… like how floats kept me above the water as a child._

_The cool air grew warmer, and I gasped as my nose suddenly picked up the smell of sweat, blood, and a dank, musty smell—like an attic that hadn't been opened in ages._

_I whimpered, suddenly wishing for Leonardo to come and get me out of here. I didn't like it here. There was too much… too much nothing…_

_I opened my mouth, willing my voice to return from wherever-the-hell it went. Then, all in a rush, a scream burst forth from my mouth. I expected it to be swallowed by the vacuum around me, but instead I felt it resonate around me and within me, even as I closed my mouth._

_The last thing I saw before the darkness grew darker was a strip of pale cloth, pale as moonlight and as bright as starlight._

**~O~O~O~**

Ezio's mind _literally_ began to ache with the questions swarming within them. How was this woman… this _witch _here? He remembered leaving her with Leonardo… was she related to the Apple… to the goddess? This time, the assassin _did_ let loose a growl of frustration and annoyance. He sheathed his hidden blade and took another step back to look at her better:

The woman seemed to be wearing a gown of starlight; it pulsed and glowed, lighting up the now pitch-black chamber. The strip—er, strips, for there was more than one (Ezio counted twelve), seemed to come from the small of her back. They drifted around lazily, like they were drifting to the push-and-pull of some invisible tide. Her hair was the same: floating about her in slow motion. Her arms were stretched back, like the wings of a bird—an eagle.

Ezio was startled out of his thoughts when the woman shifted, and a whimper rose from her lips. What was her name again?

"Dominique… Dominique Arnetta." Ezio answered himself. The man was already thinking of a way to get her down when a scream shattered the silence of the room. Ezio looked up, taken aback: the woman's, Dominique's, face was contorted into that of pain and fear.

Ezio's mind registered how the drifting strips of cloth suddenly arranged themselves in a straight line and the assassin noticed how their pattern formed the tail-feathers of an eagle. Dominique's eyes opened, and the assassin made a sound between revulsion and horror: her one eye was all black and the other was all white.

Dominique opened her mouth impossibly wide, and a powerful voice rumbled from deep within her. It sounded like something between an eagle's cry and a snake's hiss, and Ezio suppressed the urge to cover his ears:

"_Ego sum, qui a mortuis Surrexit Mystica. Ius ab iniuria et ego veni, ut nunc est in fine dierum, _et ego messorem_."_

And she collapsed, her body falling limp on the cold, hard ground.

**~O~O~O~**

_If it was possible, the darkness was only darker. There was no cold air, no scent of sweat and blood, no pale strips of cloth. I wasn't floating, but I didn't feel like I was lying down either. It was like I was standing on my tiptoes, I felt like my feet were pointed like those girls doing ballet. And it hurt like a bitch._

_But then the black around me began to change; it didn't grow lighter, but more like it was losing its blackness…? It was turning _duller_, there, that's the word. It looked like the void around me was losing its opaqueness, and it was being replaced by the smokiness of a fogged up mirror._

_Slowly, the smokiness began to clear, and it was replaced by a sort of clarity like that of a pristine looking glass. Pinpricks of black and white dotted my vision as I remained trapped within… wherever-I-was. Occasionally, burst of black would overtake a small portion of my sight, but then a larger burst of white would counteract it and set everything straight again, and vice-versa._

_But I still couldn't move. I was still trapped. But at least, this time, I had something to keep me distracted inside this glass prison._

**~O~O~O~**

"Ezio? Ezio, where are you?" Mario's voice echoed throughout the room. Ezio looked behind him and back to the unconscious woman, his mind racing. In a split-second decision, he rushed over to the unconscious woman and carried her bridal-style, although his face displayed his wariness at holding her so close to him. He walked as fast he could (minding the fabric of the dress so that he wouldn't stumble) and exited the chamber.

By the time he was out of the chamber and onto the platform, he was slightly puffing for breath. The man was slightly irritated by this; age was an annoying _figlio di puttana_.

"Ezio!" Mario said. His scarred face lit up though his eyes remained guarded and wary. The older assassin's eyes landed on the unconscious figure in his _nipote_'s arms and he raised an eyebrow.

"Who's this?" Mario asked, his eyes taking in Dominique's pale skin and long, ebony-black hair. Her dress continued to shimmer even underneath the harsh glare of the lights created by the advanced technology of Minerva's race.

"A liability," Ezio answered harshly, as he put her down beside his uncle. He turned around and tried to steady his breathing as he walked over to the Papal Staff embedded within the center of the platform. Ezio took another deep breath and pulled.

It didn't budge.

Ezio pulled again, but this time instead of the staff following Ezio's pull, a deep, rumbling sound vibrated deep within the platform. Ezio watched as the staff began to sink out of sight. Alarm bells rang in the assassin's head as he tugged on the staff, but it continued to sink. Ezio watched in despair as it sank out of sight.

"Better in the hands of the earth than in the hands of man," Mario said, but his words did not quite reach the assassin's ears. Ezio had to force himself to leave it behind; it was important for them to leave _now_, before the guards were alerted and the entire Borgia army swarmed the church. The younger Auditore turned his back on the now empty slot and stepped off the platform just as it began to sink.

"We must hurry." Mario said, already running towards the exit. Ezio walked over to Dominique's still body and lifted her up, resuming his bridal-style carry as he began to fast-walk after his uncle.

**~O~O~O~**

_Nothing has changed. It felt like I spent _another _eternity here, watching the pinpricks of black and white move around my vision. I would occasionally try to predict what color would burst out next, then if I was right… huzzah._

_But I was still trapped._

**~O~O~O~**

A thin layer of sweat already coated Ezio's forehead as he emerged from the doors leading to the Vault. All around him, the churchgoers who witnessed their fight stared at the assassins in alarm and suspicion. Whispers and the occasional hiss filled the atmosphere of the holy sanctuary. Ezio suppressed an eye-roll as he walked past them with the unconscious Dominique in his arms.

"God will damn you to hell!" one man said.

"You will pay for desecrating this holy sanctuary!" Another man yelled.

"You and your harlot will pay for your sins!" A brave man yelled from behind him.

Mario urged Ezio on, and the younger assassin stopped himself from turning around and stabbing these bastards with his hidden blade. They knew nothing of the truth.

Ezio marched on, not noticing the tremble that coursed through the body in his arms.

**~O~O~O~**

_It started of small at first. They had been just breathy sighs that seemed to form no coherent meaning. But then they solidified into words, phrases, sentences that flowed out of nowhere. And I did _not_ like what I was hearing:_

"_God will damn you to hell!" a man's harsh voice said. His voice was a whisper._

"_You will pay for desecrating this holy sanctuary!" Another man said. This time, his voice had more essence; I could tell now that the speaker had a sort of reedy voice._

"_You and your harlot will pay for your sins!" A man said. This time his voice was loud and confident, overshadowing the whispers that permeated my silent atmosphere._

Did he just call me a harlot?

"_Bull. Shit." I yelled. I didn't even notice it, but I had already pulled my hand back. The only that registered in my head was the feeling of my fist breaking through the glass prison that has kept me trapped all these eternities._

* * *

I heard Ezio gasp as I jolted awake, my arms shooting out with my fists balled up. One hit Ezio's jaw and he dropped me in surprise. His hand shot up to his face to massage the slowly forming bruise on his jaw.

"_Cazzo!_" he spat, but I didn't stay long after Ezio dropped me. As I hit the ground, I immediately stood up and marched over to the man who called me a "harlot".

Said priest was eyeing me scornfully, his black eyes shining with malice as he regarded me… well, my body (I didn't give a flying fuck if I had been naked as the day I was born) with contempt, a sneer adorning his aged face.

"_Kind_ sir," I said, feigning innocence, though heavily coating the first two words with sarcasm, in my tone as I stopped a few inches in front of him. "Did you just call me a whore?"

I noticed his hair still had some streaks of black in them while his face showed him to be around his mid-fifties. His stance was strong and firm, and usually I would be intimidated by men like him. But I couldn't find it in myself to give a flying fuck at the moment. I had just gotten out of a _glass prison_ only to be called a _whore_? Cracker bitch _will_ be served tonight.

The man nodded, and before he could blink, my fist was already colliding with his right temple. The priest was knocked unconscious immediately, his robed body falling limp to the ground.

"Well, fuck _you_, kind sir." I said, spitting on his face. I turned around and swept past a crowd of shocked priests and a young assassin. Mario still stood at the doorway at the end of the room, his face solemn but his scarred eyes betraying his amusement.

"Ezio, are you coming?" I yelled back, keeping my back straight and my footsteps graceful. And just for the hell of it, I made sure to exaggerate the swing of my ass back and forth. Immediately, I felt the assassin's eyes land on them… and a few of the priests' too.

"I know you're all looking!" I yelled out, not bothering to keep the smugness out of my voice. "And for the record, you hypocritical bastards, I'm a virgin. And there is no way in _hell_ that I am going to let this sweet, sweet ass touch _your_ pencil dicks."

By the time I finished, I was already out of the room and in the hall. As soon as I was out of the sights of the priests I broke into a run. The outrageous cries of the priests roared behind me, and Mario and Ezio were immediately running beside me; Ezio's uncle's face was split in a toothy grin while Ezio was torn between amusement, bewilderment and something akin to indignation.

I laughed as we emerged from the Vatican, with the sunlight streaming down our faces; it almost seemed like the picturesque scenery you would see at a postcard. But then again, it was hard to notice with all that when the Borgia army was pointing their swords at you.

* * *

Just some translations: ;)

_**Merda!** (Italian) = _Shit!

**_Ego sum, qui a mortuis Surrexit Mystica. Ius ab iniuria et ego veni, ut nunc est in fine dierum, _et ego messorem**_**.** (Latin) = _I am the risen Mystic. And I have come to right the wrongs. For now is the end of days, and I am the Reaper. (rough translation)

_**Figlio di puttana** (Italian) = _Son of a bitch

_**Nipote** (Italian) = _Nephew


	10. Supernatural Warrior

**FIRST OF ALL, I JUST WANNA SAY SORRY **to all those who have become impatient in their wait for the next chapters. NOW THAT IT'S XMAS BREAK, I will promise to post more often, this I SWEAR.

**NEXT: **I wanna thank **DiabloFenrirCerberus, Happyhelper83, VenusNightStarFall, ciel-de-crystal, ObsessedwReading, **and **WhoNeedsWorldPeaceI'veGotFood **for faving this fic. I hope that you're all still waiting for this and that I would continue to have your support. :D

**THIRD: **I wanna thank **DiabloFenrirCerberus, Happyhelper83, VenusNightStarFall, boyishanimeweirdofreak, fandomenforcer, Andra Black, Ethel3006, ObsessedwReading, KendraTheVideoGameNerd, Sailor Centauri1, **and **WhoNeedsWorldPeaceI'veGotFood **for following the progress of this fic. I hope this doesn't disappoint! :3

**AND LASTLY: **I WANNA THANK **LunaLou**, **ObsessedwReading,** AND **Happyhelper83 **FOR TAKING THE TIME TO REVIEW THIS FIC. HUGS AND KISSES! :'))

**MERRY CHRISTMAS AND R&R!**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

"_I can hear the pounding of my heart, can you feel it?"_

"_We were born to break the doors down, fight until the end."_

**O~OO OO~O**

**Chapter 10: Supernatural Warrior**

Even before Ezio's mind had fully caught up with his body, he had already pushed Dominique back with his arm and unsheathed his sword with the other. He heard his uncle stop beside him and unsheathe his sword, as well. Ezio regarded the soldiers with a critical eye, already thinking of an escape route.

But then the man remembered the woman he was shielding, and he suppressed a curse.

_Fight it is, then…_ he thought, grimly. He let a harsh smile spread across his face as he took a cautious step forward. He felt a small breeze ruffle his cape, bringing out the red cloth beneath.

Immediately, he saw the guards snap to attention at the movement. He could _feel_ more than see the guards ready themselves; their postures tensed, their weapons clinked as they adjusted their grips on their weapons, their hands twitched with anticipation.

The _assassino _breathed in and twitched the arm holding his weapon, letting the sunlight reflect off of it.

And it was like a string had snapped:

"_Assassino!_"

"_Get him!_"

'_Blah, blah, blah…' _Ezio thought, rolling his eyes as he evaded the lunge of the first soldier he encountered, slashing his back and counterattacking the one behind him. It was a familiar dance; a dance of blood, a dance of death… and only one would come out of it alive.

**~O~O~O~**

I could literally _hear_ my heart pounding in my chest. _That_ was how scared I was.

I'd never been this scared before; the most scared I've ever been was when my mother came into my room without knocking and almost discovered Shelly Brooks' porn stash hidden underneath my mattress—damn that girl for using my innocent bed to hide her porn.

But this was real. Like: _you live _or_ you die _real. And to be honest, I had no idea how I was processing this without screaming and bringing out my cellphone to call 911.

'_Maybe because you're used to the fact that modern technology wasn't invented yet, dumbass.'_

'_Oh, shut up.'_

Yep, this was me, having an internal argument with myself while watching two fictional characters from my favorite video game battle for their lives in front of me.

Before the assassins charged, Ezio pushed me further back. I followed, letting my feet carry me until my back hit the cool, stone wall of the church behind me. My breaths were coming in shallow gasps.

The yells of the Papal guards along with the sounds of swords clashing and steel meeting flesh filled the air. The breeze that occasionally blew through the turmoil carried with it the fresh smell of the river, mixed in with the metallic smell of sweat and blood that the carnage left behind.

I slid down, curling into a tight ball as I tried to force the sobs away. I would glance up from time to time to sneak a glance at how the fight was going, but every time I did, a wave of despair would wash over me, making me sick to the stomach. I would always bury my head with a groan.

I felt weak... useless... and I haven't felt like this since... _forever_.

And I quickly decided that this was _not_ a good feeling.

I tried to access my "sensitivity", willing myself to come across something—_anything _that could help the two assassins. I desperately wanted to feel the same power flow through my veins the minute I touched Ezio for the first time, or maybe feel that sense of purity from touching Leonardo. _Anything_ that would make this sense of despair go away…

_I have to touch someone... _now._'_

'_Jesus Christ! You sound like a hooker.'_

'_Would you shut up? Do me a favor, and help me think of something…'_

'_Like what? Should we put out a little Jean Grey and turn the soldiers to dust? Or maybe do a little Emma Frost and make them all get down on their knees?'_

'_Just shut up.'_

I ended my little monologue quickly. My debate was getting me nowhere.

_What do I do? Think!_

I looked up, down, left, right, _anywhere_... just not at the battle taking place in front of me. It's different here; seeing or hearing the slash of sword tear through skin and muscle or a hammer from breaking bone in a video game is different from actually _seeing _and _hearing_ it. It was disgusting and vomit-inducing... to me, at least (I don't know if there are any serial killers out there reading this, but I don't judge).

But slowly, I found my eyes drifting to Ezio:

He was graceful, _fluid _even. He was like a snake, darting and flexible, but he was also like an eagle; majestic and powerful. I vaguely noticed that the way he fought here in front of me is kind of similar with how I would control him back then: wait for an opponent to attack and then counter it, followed by a series of instant kills. Should an opponent break my streak, wait again, and the process repeats.

But after a few minutes, I noticed Ezio's heaving breaths, the sweat coating his forehead, and the way his limbs seemed to be too heavy to perform his graceful fighting streaks... not to mention the multiple wounds that splattered blood across the pavement whenever the assassin struck or dodged.

He was tiring.

I snapped back to focus: I quickly decided to do the most basic thing I could think of: open my eyes. See everything. Then work from there.

_After all, if I start from the bottom, there's no other place to go but up._

I managed to calm myself down enough to will my eyes to "see" everything. But instead of seeing the world as black and white as I expected, I was assaulted with flashes of scenes: a man clothed in white running across the rooftops; a woman wreathed in black wisps—dark emotions—dressed as a holy woman persecuting another woman bathed in a blue light—an ally; and finally, a woman wreathed in white—light emotions—riding away on horseback. However, the last scene was punctuated with a tightening in my chest… almost like a broken heart.

'_Shit… what the—? Stop... stop!'_

I closed my—let's call it my Third Eye... I closed my Third Eye (there, doesn't that sound more appropriate?) and opened it again. This time I willed the tendrils of black and white to go away, willed them not to touch me and assault me with any more visions.

To my surprise, they heeded me; slithering away and leaving my sight clear for a few feet. Past that, however, the wisps of emotional energy eddied to an invisible current. They swirled around me in a perfect circle; I could _feel_ their stored-up energies from where I was sitting… like a vibration deep within my bones.

_Now that that's settled:_

I looked at the battle again from my Third Eye (God that sounded so cliché). This time, I could see that the two assassins surrounded by tendrils of white, but Ezio was slightly different: where Mario was just a faded, gray pinprick surrounded by white tendrils, Ezio was a golden yellow pinprick of light surrounded by _both_ white and black tendrils.

I didn't know why, but this worried me a lot more than it actually should.

The soldiers fighting them were surrounded by black tendrils, some darker than others, though there were some that were surrounded by shades of gray—indifference. I resisted the urge to shudder, I never realized how much of these guards were filled with malicious emotions. Letting that thought slide, I focused more on what I could _do _from my spot here.

'_Think, Arnie… think…'_

But it was then that the world around me blurred, and for a moment, it was like I was looking in front of a television screen full of static. But then it was gone, and a familiar, oily voice spoke from the air:

"_Be creative, Little Eagle," _it said, "_Your only limits are the ones you impose upon yourself._"

Something clicked inside me; it was as if that simple statement answered my every question, my every insecurity about my boundaries, my limits. The voice inside me was wrong to be sarcastic; I _could_ do a little Jean Grey, a little Emma Frost, maybe even a Charles Xavier.

I stood up and spread my palms. Using my "Third Eye", I saw the tendrils still, hanging suspended in mid-air like they were frozen. All in all, it looked like something out of a poorly-edited black and white movie. The figures continued to fight, but the sound of their swords clashing and metal bashing was muted, and I reveled in it.

I twitched my fingers, commanding the tendrils to come to me. And they heeded, rushing towards me like a tidal wave. But before they could touch me, I cupped my palms together, and I saw the emotional energies of each soldier, guard, and captain compress into my palms.

I stared into the drifting orb of energy that I held in my hand; it looked like a tiny marble, and within it swirled a cosmos of emotions and passions, their memories of the past and hopes for the future.

And with a sigh, I let it all out with a force to rival that of a nuclear explosion.

**~O~O~O~**

Ezio was tiring; the sword felt heavy in his hands as he sliced through the Borgia's soldiers, cutting through their ranks and leaving nothing but carnage in his wake. He had been a tornado; a white devil that spilled blood like it was cheap wine.

But there seemed to be no end to them. Every time Ezio and Mario cut down ten, twenty more would take their place. The man didn't dare try switching to his dagger, for fear of it being torn from his grip. So he gritted his teeth and fought, parrying the strike of the soldier in front of him easily and spinning, bringing his sword down on the soldier's back. Warm blood caked his hands and some of it was drying up. Ezio grimaced.

Ezio did not how long it had been, but after a while the soldiers all froze:

"Ezio!" Mario's voice, heavy with weariness but raised in confusion, rang throughout the suddenly silent courtyard.

The assassin did not heed him, instead his focused on how the eyes of the soldiers all seemed to turn glassy, like they were half-asleep. Then all at once they swayed, their bodies leaning towards the direction of _Il Vaticano_.

Ezio traced their movement with a keen eye, mind racing on what could have possibly caused this. But then he noticed a lone figure standing in front of the wooden doors leading to the church; it was Dominique. Her hands were cupped together, like she was holding something fragile. She was gazing it like it was a thing of wonder, and Ezio noticed, to his horror, that her eyes had become white, a milky film covering her irises.

"_Dio mio..." _Mario said, moving to stand beside Ezio. He was staring at Dominique's milky eyes with wonder and curiosity. "That woman... what is she—?" But Ezio cut him off with quiet_ shush_. He noticed the subtle way her gown seemed to absorb and reflect the sunlight streaming through the clouds, making her body shimmer like a mirage.

"Witchcraft..." was all Ezio said, to which Mario snorted. But Ezio hushed him again, noticing the woman twitch her fingers. The corners of the soldiers' lips twitched, and Ezio fought back the urge to walk over to her and stop whatever it was she was doing. It was unholy... at least to Ezio, it was. She had no Piece of Eden to control, so what other explanation could there be?

But as of now, Ezio didn't mind whatever she was doing, as it halted the soldiers' relentless assault, giving both him and Mario a much-needed reprieve.

Then the woman closed her eyes and sighed. Ezio leaned forward, reluctantly curious about what she was about to do next. Mario did the same. But then the woman opened her eyes suddenly, and Ezio made that same sound of revulsion and horror while he was beneath the Vatican:

Her one eye was black and the other was white.

Ezio felt Mario stiffen beside him with shock, and they both watched as she clapped her hands together and spread them, as if addressing an invisible crowd, and all of a sudden, the soldiers were blown backwards, like they were tempest-tossed. Ezio noticed the way the soldiers seemed to convulse and jerk as they flew back; some hit the walls, others fell into the river, while some just ended up in a twitchy mess on the cobblestone.

Ezio and Mario stared in awe at the scene in front of them; the soldiers who had stopped twitching lay still, as if dead, but Ezio could still see the shallow rise and fall of their chests. A cough from behind him made both men jump.

"Hi, Ezio. Hello, _Ser Mario_. My name is Dominique Arnetta; it is a pleasure to meet you." She said in fluent Italian. She looked at Ezio significantly before curtseying to Mario, who just stared at her like she was the oddest thing a supernatural-treasure-hunting, Italian assassin had ever laid eyes on.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Dio mio (Italian) - _"My God" (interjection)


	11. The California King Bed Has Changed

**HEY GUYS! HERE'S THE NEXT CHAPTER OF LOTLE (I laugh at the acronym XDD)**

**But FIRST: **I wanna thank **UmiNight Angel Neko **and **FALLING-ANGEL24 **for adding this story to their list of faves! I shake your hands should i meet you for real- but let's be honest, I doubt that's gonna happen any time soon. :3

**SECOND: **I wanna thank **FALLING-ANGEL24** (again), **HotaruKitsune**, **FlyingMonkeyofOz**, and **UmiNight Angel Neko **(again) for following this! I give you hugs and wish you a merry christmas... even though I myself am not feeling it. X3

**AND LASTLY, A REPLY TO THE REVIEWS OF:**

**Happyhelper83: **Sorry that it took me so long to write a personal reply to your review. The night (or was it day?) I posted the previous chapter, I was SOOOO tired... but here it is now: I THANK YOU FOR CALLING ME AWESOME. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH THAT COMPLIMENT MEANS TO ME. YOU'RE AWESOME TOO! Hi-Five! :D

**Andra Black: **Thanks! Haha, sorry for the late reply. but I just wanna say that everytime i reread the chapters, I also think of Arnie as the mysterious, sassy eagle-bitch who fell from the sky. ;) THANKS FOR REVIEWING! :D

**ObsessedwReading: **FIRST OF ALL: I wanna thank you for your continuous reviews of the chapters in this fanfic. That means a lot cause that means you give time to give reviews... and now I appreciate it big time. *pats you on back* AND thanks for saying this is a great fanfiction, I needed that. ;)

**FALLING-ANGEL24: **Thanks for your comment! Actually, I'm still planning that part out... so... CROSS FINGERS (or toes or whatever XD)

**LunaLou: **I will NEVER hate you for giving your opinion. But I hope that my updates will eventually put this fanfic back in your good books. :) Sorry about making this go far from what you wanted. :(

**Please don't forget to R&R!**

**AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO:**

* * *

**Lady of the Little Eagles**

**O~OO** **OO~O**

"_All I know since yesterday is everything has changed._"

"_That made everything feel better, and even then my eyes got wetter._"

**O~OO****OO~O**

**Chapter 11: The California King Bed Has Changed**

That... felt... amazing.

Just... _amazing..._

_Wow_...

There were literally no other words for it. I've never felt so _alive_; if this is what being _high _feels like, then now I understand why people drink or do drugs. This feeling of ecstasy... God, it's so easy to get addicted to it.

After exploding (God, that sounded so wrong), I opened my eyes; and the first I noticed was how bright the sun was. I blinked and squinted against its harsh glare, not noticing the fresh breeze that danced through the fallen leaves and scraps of cloth that had been ripped or torn in the heat of the battle. But I noticed the smell it carried; the salty tang of sweat and blood. The scent of the river was gone.

The next thing I noticed was how quiet it had become; the absence of the sounds of swords clashing and bones breaking pierced my eardrums. I yawned, willing the pressure in my ears to go away.

Slowly, the world around me cleared up as I got used to the sunlight. I looked around, and I noticed the twitching lumps that littered the courtyard. I guessed that was the result of my "explosion" (ah, God, any dirtier and I might as well call it "my orgasm").

Nevertheless, I beamed and felt a bubble of laughter rise from inside me. But it was then I noticed the two figures standing alone in the sea of unconscious bodies. Ezio and Mario Auditore were staring ahead, the faces slack with shock. I suppressed the urge to smirk and instead schooled my face into one filled with serenity and indifference.

I walked—no, glided over to them. I was careful to avoid tripping over the bodies, weapons, or the pieces of armor that littered the square. The two men still had not noticed me. I felt as light as air, swinging my arms about like I was a princess... or something. I also noticed the way my gown seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, and I decided to keep it (what? I get to look like a queen, minus the price tag!).

I stopped behind them, and the only downside was that my bare feet felt slightly uncomfortable against the slightly-sun-baked, blood-caked pavement. But they still hadn't noticed me.

I was surprised; at least one of them should've seen me by now, if not now, then when I was gliding towards them—I wasn't exactly subtle with all the unnecessary hair-flips and gown-twirls I did on my to them. Plus, the shimmering dress along with the streaks of black my hair-flips left behind should have been a dead give-away.

I coughed, and both men jumped. I tamped down my amused grin and replaced it with a serene façade as I looked over to the both of them. Both men were sweaty, their robes and weapons caked with blood. But I didn't care; I was still as high as a butterfly.

I took in a moment to stare at Ezio; his hood was still on, and his golden eyes were aflame with bloodlust, but right now, it was tamped under patience (courtesy of his years of discipline) and confusion.

Also, now I can see why many women would fall for his body—strong jaw, defined cheekbones, and a body that looks like it's on steroids but is not.

But I also have a feeling that many more would fall for his demeanor: dark, mysterious, emotional... but not broody and self-involved. So all in all, Ezio was the exact opposite of the "emo" guys from my time.

"Hi, Ezio," My eyes glinted as I sent him a look that, to me at least, meant: _I am a badass bitch from hell and you can _suck it_, you sexy, womanizing Italian hunk!_ The younger assassin's eyebrows shot up as he regarded me with confusion. But after a moment, they hardened and I could tell he was about to go all bad-cop on me. So I quickly moved on and curtseyed to his uncle:

"Hello, _Ser _Mario. My name is Dominique Arnetta; it is a pleasure to meet you."

But before Mario could reply, Ezio was already upon me, dominating my vision as his deep, Italian-accented voice vibrated in my eardrums:

"S_trega,"_ he growled,"What have you done?"

Well, shit.

My high was abruptly cut off; it was sort of like I was awoken—rather rudely—from a particularly pleasant dream. The serene façade melted off of my face, to be replaced by a frown and a twitch in my eye. Yeah, I'm one of those people whose eyes twitch when they get pissed... _really_ pissed.

"_What_ do you mean, Ezio?" I asked, stopping the sarcasm from leaking into my tone. Call it my defense mechanism; if someone bullshits me after I helped them, I give them bullshit in return.

"If I recall correctly," I continued, staring hard at Ezio's golden eagle-eyes. "What I 'did' was that I saved your lives."

"At what cost?!" Ezio snarled, pointing an accusing finger at me. I was confused; why was this assassin so convinced that I was something evil... unholy? The way he looked at me, it was like _I_ was the heartless murderer.

Okay, hold the fuck up:

"Okay, we _obviously_ got off on the wrong foot, so why don't you _shut up_ a second and let me explain." I said, my voice shaking with rage and indignation. I blew the hair out of my face irritably.

"_First_ of all, and most importantly, I am not a witch!"

I glared at the hard-headed assassin. But Ezio's murderous expression did not change as he remained silent. Another breeze blew against him; ruffling his hood and carrying to me the scent of sweat, blood, and musk. I blinked then looked away, fighting down my blush as I stared hard at Mario who was looking at me with interest, his eyes brimming with curiosity. I drew strength from that as I continued, willing the scoff to enter my voice:

"Witches... really, Ezio, I would have thought you more open-minded than that." I said, rolling my eyes. I ignored the way Ezio clenched his fist, the one containing his hidden blade. I was dangerous too, even though I didn't realize _how_ dangerous I was at the time.

"I am a _sensitive..._ ever heard of that term before?" At Ezio's raised eyebrow and Mario's questioning look, I forged on: "You know, seeing the dead, dreaming of the future...?"

A look of realization and understanding dawned on Ezio's face, erasing the hard lines of anger and rage.

"You are a prophet?"

The irritation was wiped off my face, like _literally_; it was like I was sucker-punched or something. It wasn't really on _what_ Ezio said, it was more of _how _he said it—it was in a timid, hopeful kind of way... like he was child asking for something but was used to never getting anything that he wanted.

Once again, my patience was restored.

"Yes...?" I answered, trailing off in a question. But at Ezio's and Mario's exasperated expressions, I sighed.

"Yes," I said, with more certainty. Ezio's brown eyes—I'm going on a hunch here that his golden eyes only comes out only when he uses his Eagle Vision—were storming with emotions... I'm not sure, but I think I detected a little bit of relief, and all curiosity.

_Aww... Ezio..._

"You could call me _a_ prophet." I rushed on, not wanting a misunderstanding, "But you are _the _prophet. _You_ were destined to be the one to open the Vault so that Minerva could communicate with Desmond Miles through _you_."

Okay, I'm going to be honest here, I only _just_ realized what I had said _after_ Ezio had already grabbed my wrist roughly. I winced, but as I was about to tell him off—possibly give him a good slap—I noticed his eyes; they were wide with confusion and fear... almost manic. I let that sink in: _manic_. In all of my times using Ezio as an assassin, I have never _ever _seen his façade shatter like this; and frankly, it was unnerving to say the least.

"How do you know about that?" He said to me, the hopeful, timid voice gone. It had been replaced by something harsher, more scared—like a cornered animal. I stared into his shattered eyes, the windows that he had worked so hard to toughen up to conceal the storm of emotions beneath.

I felt my heart soften at the sight—and yes; I'm feeling sympathy for a fictional, womanizing murderer. Sue me.

I let a sad smile grace my lips as I placed a comforting hand on his iron grip. I let it rest there as I leaned in closer to his ear. I whispered:

"I was there."

I pulled away, but something kept my hand in place—maybe it was the illusion that my touch could actually soften something as hard as him... and _no_, I meant that in the most innocent way possible.

I looked into his eyes; already, I could see him reigning in his emotions, the storm cloud that I let loose with my words. I felt sorry for him, but I resisted the urge to reach out and touch his face. I'm not _that_ desperate, secondly, we're not that close, and thirdly, love is dangerous.

Is it that obvious I don't have a love life?

A cough interrupted our "moment" (if you could call it that) and my head turned so fast, I'm pretty sure Mario winced.

"Do you have a place to—?" he began, but I cut him off, quickly forcing the words out of my mouth before the flustered stuttering kicks in:

"May I join you on your return trip to Monteriggioni?" I quickly asked, disregarding the way my face flushed as Ezio pulled his hand away. Both men's eyes widened.

"How did you know—?" Mario began, but cut himself off as the sound of armored footsteps began to fade into earshot. My blush had faded and I let a look of indifference mask my face (it was getting easier to do once you know you've got something more dangerous than a loaded Borgia gun on—_in_ your person). I shot the man a look:

"Do you _really_ want to know?" I asked, letting a small amused smile grace my face as I walked towards the bridge, letting the wind blow on my hair and dress (God, I feel like someone out of a fairy tale—or a Katherine Heigl movie). Looking ahead, I saw the red banner of the Borgia flapping in the wind. They were marching towards us, an unstoppable force—like the Juggernaut from X-Men... but with less angst. My pace didn't falter as I switched to my Third Eye.

I inhaled sharply as I once again saw the world in black and white and shades of gray. The soldiers marching in front of me were faded pinpricks of gray against a poorly-drawn rendition of the Vatican City. They were surrounded by black tendrils. So all in all, the entire army was a walking mass of darkness, a blot of ink on a blank slate.

Vaguely, I heard the yells of the soldiers, ordering me to halt. I paid them no attention, and they marched faster, purposely running towards me (I noticed how the cloud seemed to pick up speed).

Behind me, I _felt _more than heard the heavy footsteps of the assassins as they ran to face the Borgia's reinforcements. The sound of swords unsheathing pierced through my mute bubble.

"Stand back." I said, stopping the two men in their tracks. "These are mine."

I didn't care if they heeded me or not. But my attention was drawn away from them when I watched the mass of writhing darkness grow closer; their tendrils slowly overtaking my line of sight, blotting out all the other shades of gray.

I could feel them, now that they were so close; I could feel the energy stored within them. Though dark and negative in nature, I had a feeling it would taste like the darkest of chocolate—bittersweet as hell, but delicious all the same.

I shook my head and I let them draw closer, letting the feel of their energy resonate within me. But once the smell of sweat and metal got to me I held out my hand, as if to expect something to be given. Immediately, the wall of black energy halted, suspended in midair. And then I withdrew my hand, willing the wisps of emotion to come to me, like before. They heeded me, abandoning their hosts and rushing towards me in a one, giant onslaught of darkness and passion.

"Stop," I said, forcing power into my voice. The surge stopped in its tracks, a giant wall of black in the middle of my vision. I suddenly grinned, an idea forming in my head:

"_Reflera!_" I yelled, stifling the chuckle at how stupid I sounded, utilizing a spell from Kingdom Hearts—a video game me and my cousins used to play together when we were children. But it eventually turned to full-blown laughter when I saw the wall of black energy shoot back, a fountain of white tendrils erupting in their wake.

"Oh, my God, it worked!" I laughed, watching the tidal wave shoot back, bowling down the pinpricks of gray like they were plastic pins, and I had just gotten a strike.

I closed my eyes, and at the same time, shut off my Third Eye. Then I slowly opened them, letting them adjust to the sunlight naturally. I looked back, and was once more greeted with the sight of Ezio and Mario in awe—well; Mario had a more amused smile on his face... like me showing off was something cute.

"Of course, _signora_, you may join us." He said, impressed grin lighting up his face. He whistled. Immediately, a brown stallion galloped from behind one of the houses and stopped beside the older man. Ezio did the same, this time hoisting himself up on a white horse with a flecked mane.

"Do you know how to ride?" He asked, his eyes were once again the barred windows to his soul. But when my mind registered what he had asked, I stifled my grin and answered:

"Which one; you or that horse?" I asked, staring innocently at the younger assassin's dumbstruck face while his uncle laughed, making his horse go at a canter to lead us on.

"I am jesting," I literally had to stop myself from cringing at the word. "I am a virgin, remember? Now, scoot over, macho man. I believe _you_ have some explaining to do about what _you_ have discovered underneath the Vatican."

* * *

**TRANSLATIONS:**

_**Strega** (Italian) - _witch; sorceress


End file.
